Memorial Day 2010

For some, Memorial Day may hold meaning more as the first long weekend and harbinger of Summer, than it does as a time set aside to remember those who have served and fallen in America's wars.

If so, then they must have missed the airings of HBO's miniseries 'The Pacific', and the current re-running of the HBO film, 'Taking Chance'. The former shows us in bloody high-definition just how completely our troops sacrificed themselves in our service in World War II. The latter gives us a view of the impact of a single life lost, through the narrative lens of a marine's body being escorted home from Iraq.

Individually, each depiction makes sacrifice clear. Taken together, the effect is like a simultaneous punch to the gut, slap to the face, and kick in the ass. Together, they also remind us that sacrifice is not confined to the past.

All of which is to say it's a bit difficult for me to barbecue and celebrate Memorial Day this year. The memories, old and new, aren't conducive to much more than hoisting a toast to all those who have given us their last, best, effort.

For those of you who'd like a slighter more energetic (and exercised) post about this day, you can check out my thoughts from 2009. For the rest, may you have a pleasant day with those you love.

Fix It

American's believe in fixing things. When something breaks, fails to work as planned, or when a problem arises that needs an urgent solution, we want it fixed. And fixed NOW. Yesterday, if possible.

I heard on the radio - on 'This American Life' (Episode: 'Island Time'), a feature about relief efforts in Haiti. And it was all about our focus in fixing things quickly versus the local's slow, convoluted, 'evolutionary' way of getting things done.

Apparently, our patience is thin when it comes to waiting for hospitals to be built, and getting people the treatment they need to survive. Which is understandable, the story revealed, but counterproductive in the long term. Our desire to move quickly leads us to push the local people out of the picture. They become followers to our commands, and not in control of their own destiny.

This state of affairs gets needed things done, but never provides the structure for a self-reliant future. Some relief workers in Haiti were voicing the opinion that it might be tragic, but necessary, to let the locals manage the process. Some people will suffer or die needlessly, in exchange for a better Haitian future.

A tough trade-off, and not one that all foreign relief workers can accept. And specifically not American relief workers.

If Americans see a problem we can fix, or we think should be quickly fixed, we want and expect it to be done now.

Which is why our collective growing frustration with British Petroleum (BP) over the Gulf Oil Spill is no surprise.

There's a hole. Plug It.

There's a leak. Stop It.

There's a Spill. Clean it Up.

We can't seem to fathom why these things can't be done. And quickly.

But I guess we'll have to take a tip from the more progressive Haitian relief workers and let the locals handle their own affairs. If we don't let BP figure it out for themselves, they'll never get better. And isn't that a future worth a few extinct species and a decade or so of oil blobs and collapsed fisheries?

The 'God' Percent

The Earth and You and Me, and all The Stars that We Can See ...

Shouldn't really be here, at all. At least not based on cosmological theories, which postulate there are equal amounts of matter and anti-matter and that each should cancel each other out, giving rise to a sum of exactly zero - nothingness. Or perhaps better phrased, 'not somethingness'.

But wait, We are Here, and so are the Earth and all those stars. Billions and Billions of stars, swirling in perhaps more billions of galaxies. And every bit of all that is matter, presumably.

So, what gives?

Well, some of that matter than shouldn't be here, in the form of particle physicists working with the Tevatron accelerator at the Fermi Lab here in the good old USA (take THAT, Large Hadron Collider), believe they have discovered the reason matter wins out.

Apparently, over the years particle collisions created during their experiments with the Tevatron have resulted in about one percent more matter than anti-matter being created. Pretty trivial sounding to those of us without beautiful minds, but perhaps enough to explain why we are all here to ponder these points.

Of course, these results will now be up for debate, and there's no telling how that debate will end. But, for the time being at least, it looks as if we may all be here due to a slight error in the balance of the universe. Which goes a long way towards explaining Hannity.

You know the old saying, 'The Devil is in the details'?

Could it be also true that, 'God is in the one percent?'

That's what I'd call a miracle ...

Poetry Break: An Oily Encounter

'So What's a Little Spilt Oil', began BP, looking hopeful

'Between Friends as good as US?', he finished, smiling.

The townsfolk were gathered, with torches made from oily marsh grass burning brightly in their hands. None of them were smiling.

'Nature can Regenerate. The Gulf is Huge', BP continued.

'In a year, maybe ten, you won't think anything happened.'

Up, Up in the Air Flew a dozen torches at once. They flipped through the air towards BP.

'What are you doing?' he screamed.

'Saving our land', shouted the townsfolk as one.

'What?' asked BP, looking up as the torches arced overhead, falling into the marsh grass a few yards a way. The grass took fire as the torches touched down. The marsh was burning.

'Are you crazy? Have you lost your minds? What do you think you are doing?' BP looked wary as he asked, fight or flight battling it out in his mind, with flight winning.

The townsfolk did not reply. They threw the last of their torches and turned away. Their land burning. Thick oil smoke lifting to the heavens.

BP turned too, and ran as quickly as possible to the waiting helicopter, to take him away from this crazy place.

'If only their oil wasn't so valuable,' he thought, thinking of better times and easier profits as the helicopter whirred away from the conflagration.

[Ok, so this isn't a poem. I can't think of anything that rhymes with 'conflagration'. Get over it]

Bloody Mess

Has anyone seen 'The Pacific' on HBO?

If you have, and you've stuck with it, you likely have a newly-developed, very bleak view of humanity. How else could you emotionally register the crazed, bloody mess shown to you each episode.

It's a bit like watching the season-ending blood bath in 'Spartacus: Blood and Sand' (Starz channel), only without the relief of knowing it's fiction.

I've been struggling to balance my personal view of my father's generation - the 'Greatest Generation', with what I've been watching on 'The Pacific', but have yet to make it work. On the one hand, I can understand how young men far from home, and faced with an evil combination of fear, horror, suffering, and boredom, could become emotionally numb. On the other hand, just how numb I had no concept until watching this series.

It would have been nice if the writers and directors had injected more camaraderie into the picture, like the earlier HBO production, 'Band of Brothers'. That series was nearly as violent and graphic as 'The Pacific', but felt somehow more palatable to watch. With this new series, I feel guilty - dirty even, for participating in the horror even as a spectator, never mind the actual violence depicted took place over 60 years ago.

Perhaps I've got it all wrong. Maybe we need to see a coarser, bloodier view of the theoretically 'good' wars our nation has fought. But can't we get the lesson served us with some humanity too?

We need light to keep the dark from overwhelming us. Seeing one of the soldiers plunk rocks into the blood-filled bowl that used to be an intact 'enemy' head was too dark for me, and the series has given us precious little light.

But I've kept watching, and I am beginning to dislike myself for doing so. My only excuse is I have kept hope that I would see more of the soldier's personalities, their yearnings and their dreams. Every such glimpse, however, has been followed by tragedy.

To be expected in war, I guess, but this is a film about a war, not the actual war.

Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks, producers of this show, could have given us some relief, like they did in the earlier 'Band of Brothers', but they took a different path. 'The Pacific' is like the first 20 minutes of Hank's 'Saving Private Ryan', only the shock lasts for hours, until it stops being shocking, and you just become numb.

As of this writing, 'The Pacific' has one episode left to air - one covering the marine's return home. It promises to provide some of those personal glimpses for which I've been hoping, even if they may be too little, and likely too late, to rescue this bloody mess.

Cone of Silence (Perceived)

Joining the security line at a Texas airport, the tall, bald, gentleman in the crisp suit was in no condition to navigate. He was engaged in a cell phone conversation with someone far away. Someone important enough to exact his every iota of attention.

It's a wonder he had enough free cortex space to put one foot in front of the other, but that's the mystery of we humans - we are pretty coordinated beasts, even with our minds on hold.

What struck me more than his ability to follow the line, was his seemingly utter disregard of those of us in line with him. He acted as if he was alone in his long-distance conversation - or truer, that he and his phone companion were alone together in some private space, where they could converse freely. Whatever he had to say on his end, he either didn't mind, or didn't notice, that complete strangers were listening in (whether we wanted to or not).

Now, Mister Tall and Bald is not alone in this behavior. I am certain I've done it. Probably so have you. We are all, at one time or another, wrapped in our own 'Cone of Silence' - perceived, but not real.

Art Sale

Believe it or not, every one of us is capable of producing Art. And note the capital 'A' - I am speaking of the Art that feeds the soul, that inspires us, and makes life worth living.

As opposed to art, lowercase 'a', that is used merely as background or to facilitate the sale.

Not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with that. Artistry in the service of everyday business is no different than, say, accounting, minus the math. But when we speak of beauty, truth, and meaning, we mean the former, capital-A 'Art'. That's what lasts.

And by 'Art', of course I mean Music and Writing too. Both capitals as well, since we all know music and writing that doesn't reach to the level of 'Art'. Disco music and this blog, for instance.

It's not too hard to discern what is not 'Art', it's more difficult, though, to determine what is. This is somewhat subjective. However, I would argue that uniqueness and motive are a big part of the formula, aligned with technique and imagination. Most 'artists', 'musicians', and 'writers' have at least one of these wrong or missing in their work. Usually their motive's to blame.

It is almost always for money, or fame.

Which is why I can't view American Idol or any of it's ilk as showcases of artistry. The motives are all wrong.

Somebody singing a little ditty in their shower, for the sheer pleasure of it, might be producing 'Art', if imagination and a little technique are on their side. A high school art project, might be 'Art' too, with uniqueness of vision. No platinum singles; no gallery sales success; just beauty, pleasure, and inspiration.

All of this is just to say: Look closely and locally for Art, whether it's visual, musical, or literary. Or physical - let's not forget the Dance.

Don't rely on the media to feed you Art, because what you get will mostly be lowercase stuff.

Now, 'Go!', hug a mime. They certainly aren't in it for the money ...

Zonie Invasion

I lived in San Diego in the late 80's and experienced first-hand a wave of immigration that threatened the jobs of local San Diegans and had the city on edge.

Let me say we lived in a very optimistic city - we called it 'America's Finest City', and we believed it. The city was also growing, and the county had room yet to accommodate new residents.

And, steeped in a rich, hispanic heritage, San Diego welcomed migrants from south of the border. We seldom thought of their competition for our jobs.

But we were terrified of the other invaders - the 'Zonies', the vanguard of which was already driving about the city and county, looking for our jobs, taking up our affordable apartments, and bringing their peculiar culture to mess with our SoCal borderland vibe.

These 'Zonies' of which I speak came, as you likely have guessed, from Arizona. Mostly from Phoenix, which was undergoing an inexplicable economic bust. San Diego was a straight shot West for them, and seemed more hopeful than, say, Albuquerque, or flight north to Las Vegas (some of both of which happened, I am sure).

The invasion didn't last long. The Phoenix economy turned around, and so did many of the Zonies, heading right back to their beloved swamp coolers and cacti. Others saw the light and became solid south coastal Californians, of indeterminate politics and open minds.

I thought of this when musing on the Arizona Immigration Bill. The image of those Arizona licensed cars loaded with families and their belongings driving about San Diego desperately searching for jobs and a welcome, just doesn't mesh with my new image of Arizonans, engendered by that thoughtless legislation.

Geocalypse Now

Global Warming? Weapons of Mass Destruction? Too many Law and Order episodes broadcast into space?

Something has the Universe ticked off at us. Or so it would seem, with the litany of catastrophes we've been saddled with of late:

• A hot volcano in frigid Iceland that froze air traffic across Europe, frying the nerves of erstwhile travelers.

• A massive oil spill courtesy of British Petroleum which threatens New Orleans and the Gulf Coast with economic ruin, just as the city and region were trying hard to recover from Katrina and the economic meltdown.

• Flooding in Nashville, Tennessee. And not long before that - record flooding in Rhode Island.

• Deadly Tornados in Mississippi

• Earthquakes just about everywhere around the Pacific Rim - and in Haiti, which is now an honorary member of the Ring of Fire Club (you see what happens when you build a canal?)

So what's next?

A giant sinkhole will open up and swallow Atlanta?

A real volcano will erupt in Las Vegas ?

The Large Hadron Collider in Cern will spawn a black hole which will suck up the Swiss banks, precipitating a second Dark Age?

All are terrible to contemplate, but it could be worse: Woody Allen could direct a remake of 'Play It Again, Sam', with Adam Sandler as the Woody character - a potential theatrical black hole of orgasmotronic proportions.

But who knows? These and other possible horrors may await. After all, there have been years and years of Fox News beaming out into space...

Coming Next Week:

Epitaph signs a new band, Katrina and The Economic Meltdown

Congress passes a bill to restrict disasters to states whose names are easy to spell. (Watch out Texas and Idaho)

Babbleocity 34 - Only One

Sometimes there is only one. Sometimes there can be only one.

A Prius in Virginia - Living in California, where Toyota's Prius hybrids are a dime a dozen, I thought it would be fun to rent a 2010 Prius on a recent trip to Richmond, Virginia. It didn't take long, however, to realize I was the only Prius on the road - or in the parking lots or garages I visited. In fact, I only saw one other Hybrid vehicle, a Toyota Camry, and it was probably rented too. I'm not sure why this was so. Richmond is a capital city, and it's not that far (less than 3 hours) from Washington, D.C., where presumably a 'green' mindset has taken hold in our national government. Or, are we in California that far ahead of the curve?

Poizner Vs. Whitman - Speaking of California, has anyone noticed our upcoming gubernatorial election has so far been all about Republican infighting? It's as if the Democrats will not be fielding a credible candidate. Steve Poizner (the name that launched a thousand cheesy word associations) is embroiled and outgunned in an expensive media war against his rival, Meg Whitman. With each sniping at the other, it takes on the appearance of a scene from Highlander. There can be only one!

United We Fail (Maybe) - And on the subject of there being only one, is it possible we may one day have just a single major airline? I hope not, because if it's the one just formed from the buyout of Continental by United, no one will ever arrive at Newark on time (or, more importantly, leave).